that’s the way the cannonball bounces
Honesty is for people who lack the creativity to make the world more interesting.
I look at the world around me and I feel like I’m looking at scrabble tiles jumbled madly, there’s all the pieces for something so great right there in front of me, but deep down I know that no one is going to put them in order, no one’s going to take the time, put in the effort, no one’s going to move the pieces to where they need to go. All you can do is sit and watch the jumble, silently mourn all the things that you’ll never see, all that could have been.
I’m neglectful, I really am. All my intentions to use this in order to keep the storm of thoughts in my head to a minimum seems to have been completely forgotten about and replaced with this just being another bookmark on my browser, shame on me I suppose. It’s tricky though, to keep to anything with a consistency unless that anything offers in return a consistent challenge, then it’s like a game, it becomes something that you plot and plan to overtake, then it becomes fun. This isn’t exactly a pass time that offers a great deal of stimulation, whatever I want to write I write and click a button…and it seems that basically covers our entire interaction. Everything seems like that as of late, and in reaction there are fewer and fewer things I really even want to bother to do, people I care to bother to go see. There are no challenges, no winning or losing, just new opportunities to waste new time in the same places doing the same things. That’s not living it’s waiting, and when you consider what invariably they’re waiting for you understand that there are still a few things I have to get done first. Well, enough of a rest I suppose, back to that wonderful chaotic world outside my window.
So here’s what I’ve been thinking about lately. Life, or to be more specific how incredibly brief life is, and how much of it people waste trying to make something out of it that it will never be. I was watching that show Intervention the other day, and it suddenly occurred to me that these people are taking the one obsession, passion, joy, pain, the one overwhelming sensation that they know in their life and they are denying themselves this thing. The high amount of relapses seem to prove that it’s not for themselves, it’s because they’re being guilt tripped into doing it by people around them. People more concerned about the effects of this person on themselves. So what happens next? They clean up, they spend the rest of their lives fighting this deep overpowering urge to indulge in the one thing that they can never have again. The world will always see them firstly as an ex junkie, they will always be an incomplete person, always wanting that one thing that can make them feel complete. For what? A couple more years of wanting something, of denial. Stop eating and you’ll not get stomach aches, stop breathing and you’ll not smell anything more unpleasant. Self denial doesn’t cease the fact that you will die. We will all die and all that denying ourselves the things that we want does is bring us closer to the point of realization that everyone dies but not everyone lives. Smoke, drink, fuck, do whatever you want because you’ll be dead regardless of what you do in the meantime. Why suffer through it, when you can have a moment of joy, of pleasure, a moment of fulfillment the likes of which most people spend their entire lives trying to come within a thousand miles of. Life sucks, that’s the nature of it. The tragedy of it. That’s the motivating factor to do something about it. Don’t bitch, don’t complain, do something about or start holding your breath. Soon enough it will be like we were never here, live it up kids. While you still can.
you want to really succeed in life, you have to be willing to give up…everything. Friends, time, sleep, health and sanity. give up anything and everything, and then and only then will you be able to really find that level of fulfillment. You can’t create or destroy, you can only move pieces around, it takes a huge void to hold those levels of dreams that people seem to have now a days. You need it to be big, to be brilliant, to be immaculate, and it will take everything to do it, it will take yourself. Dreams require human sacrifices. Only you can be expected to justify your own actions, but you only need to be able to justify them to yourself.
Words mean nothing.
Words are sounds, grunts and tones and melodic articulations, but that’s it. The only difference between what we say and the grunts of a pig in it’s sty is that we’ve agreed on defining certain grunts and grumblings. They aren’t anything. They’re not anything tangible, these aren’t things you can live off, these aren’t things that you can sustain yourself on. Words won’t warm you, they won’t feed you, words won’t defend you when you’re in danger. Word’s can’t save us, can’t redeem us, words can’t replace the real things in life. Words don’t love, don’t comfort, words don’t give meaning or purpose, words are just sounds. Words are just that, gone as soon as they are spoken. Words don’t echo, words don’t sustain. Words don’t survive our time here, words don’t live beyond us.
Words are our desperate attempt to find a way to share ideas that can’t be shared. To get what is within us out of us, to connect with another. Words unheard are words unspoken, words unread are words unwritten. We are all complete upon ourselves. We stand on our own. We are individuals who keep trying to find a method to connect to someone else, all we have are our words, our words are meaningless, we have nothing.